


the place that we were once from

by miss_eee



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Getting Back Together, Heartbreak, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-09-02 19:26:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16793263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_eee/pseuds/miss_eee
Summary: Promises made were not promises kept. Except for one. From LA and Nashville and Paris and NYC, they vowed to keep the promise.The promise to come home, to be there for one another, when death calls for one of their own.A story of friendship, death and coming home.





	1. Jughead Jones

_“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to John F. Kennedy International Airport. Local time is 1:50 PM and the temperature is 37°.”_  
  
The voice coming over the cabin speakers jolted him out of his slumber. It was a true testament to how well traveled he was, that he’d failed to even feel the plane's descent.   
  
_“On behalf of Virgin Atlantic and the entire crew, I’d like to thank you for joining us on this trip and we are looking forward to seeing you on board again in the near future. Enjoy your stay in the Big Apple!”_  
  
The joys of traveling often, was that he traveled light. Grabbing just his laptop bag, he passed quickly through the gate, but the line at customs made him groan. Checking his watch, he started to roll and back forth on his heels. He couldn’t be late, and his flight had already been delayed, cutting into the small amount of time he already had.   
  
An hour in customs and a 30-minute Uber ride, he was dragging his bag up the steps of his apartment building in Brooklyn, debating if it was time to find a place that had an elevator that actually worked. He couldn’t be any later than he already was, forgoing a shower and quickly changing into a dark charcoal gray suit, white button up and black tie, tossing a pair of jeans, two t-shirts, extra underwear, and his toiletries into his duffel bag, he grabbed his keys from where he’d set them on the counter. Despite the lack of working elevator, his building did have a small parking garage across the street, which currently held his older, rusted blue truck. After turning it over twice before it started, he thought maybe with his next advance he’d upgrade both the truck and the apartment.   
  
As the hours rolled on, the congestion of the city faded away to the flat open fields that soon became the thick, Evergreen forests. The tall trees shaded the road with their shadows, casting long streaks of darkness over what remained of the daylight.   
  
_He doesn’t want to be here. He’d rather be anywhere in the world, than here._   
  
He has a chapter due to his editor in just over a week, followed by a month-long book tour the week after. His trip to London was supposed to be short, but trips to London never are, and what should have been four days, became two weeks. He’d thought about relocating all together, about as much as thought about replacing his truck or moving to an apartment building with a working elevator.   
  
There was something about London that he loved- the history, the food, the fact that no one really knew who he was apart from the picture on the back of a book. In the States, everyone knew his story, recognized him from the countless newspaper articles that seemed to accompany his every move.   
  
The road winds alongside a river, _the river_ , until it curves and crosses over the rolling waters. Just across the bridge is the sign that stars in all his nightmares. _Welcome to Riverdale- The Town With Pep!_  
  
 _He doesn’t want to be here. He’d rather be anywhere in the world, than here_.   
  
Everything about this town made him dread coming back, to the place that he had once been from. All the secrets the town kept. The secrets their parents had kept from them. The secrets they’d kept from each other.   
  
There had been a time, only a few years ago, when he’d thought he’d never leave, thought that he’d never escape the grasp the town seemed to have on him. In the eyes of the town, he was forever his father’s son, a Serpent and nothing more. It seemed to be determined to keep him down, holding him back and reminding him of his father’s sins.   
  
In the end, it’d been his mother that saved him. The same mother that left him years before, telling him he’d never be more than his father, was the same mother that took him in. The same mother that gave him a job at her junkyard, helped him register for classes at The University of Toledo. It wasn’t NYU or Columbia, but it wasn’t Riverdale either.   
  


UT had led to an internship at a small publishing house in Toledo, which had led to a job as a copyeditor which had led to him meeting his agent. Sheila Marks had been enthralled with his story of the town he grew up in, and he’d moved to New York shortly after his novel was picked up for publishing.   
  
New York felt more like home than Toledo ever had. Maybe it was its close proximity to Riverdale, but he’d never felt at home there either. It had only ever been them that made him call Riverdale home or at least the place that he had been from.   
  
_Them._ What had started as three childhood friends, had become a small group of four when Veronica Lodge moved from New York City at the start of their freshman year. Over their high school years, a few others had worked their way into the close-knit group; Kevin Keller, the Sherriff’s son, Cheryl Blossom of Blossom Maple Syrup, Reggie Mantle, Varsity Football captain, Josie McCoy of Josie and The Pussycats.   
  
Together, they’d survived high school. It’d been typical in all ways that high school was if the typical high school experience included a run-in with a serial killer, a deadly board game and a questionable mob boss. Together, they’d survived. College applications, pressures from their parents, the crippling fear of not ever getting out of Riverdale.   
  
As he glances up when he drives past Pop’s Chock-lit Shoppe, he remembers milkshakes the of the past, and all the dreams the four friends had shared about leaving Riverdale.   
  
In the end, they’d all gotten out. Veronica had taken a position in Paris with a fashion house. Archie Andrews, the red-headed guitar playing football star made a name for himself in the bars of Nashville. It had taken Betty Cooper a flight to California to escape the stigma of being the daughter of a serial killer. But in the end, they’d all gotten out.  
  
 _He doesn’t want to be here. He’d rather be anywhere in the world, than here._   
  
He sees the sign up ahead, his final destination quickly approaching, and he pulls his truck into a parking space out front. He glances around, trying to take stock of the motorcycles mixed in with the other vehicles in the parking lot. Only here do people drive their motorcycles year-round.   
  
It’s cold as he steps out of the truck, the brisk winter air biting at his face. He wishes briefly he’d grabbed his old beanie to protect him from the elements, but maybe this way, without his trusty hat, he can escape unnoticed.   
  
He wraps his thick wool coat tighter around him as he walks to the door, pushing inside and embracing the warmth that radiates out. There’s a lady at the front desk who smiles when he walks in, but before he can ask her where he needs to go, she’s directing him down the hallway, to the second room on the right. Riverdale is small, he figures there’s only one here today, or maybe she already knows who he is and why he’s here.   
_  
__He doesn’t want to be here. He’d rather be anywhere in the world, than here._  
  
He hangs his coat on the rack in the hallway and re-adjusts his tie. It feels like its tightening around his throat like a noose, or maybe that’s just the feeling he gets from being back here.   
  
He pauses, wringing his hands together before he rounds the corner and stands in front of the room. The doors are open, he can see the people milling about.   
  
_He doesn’t want to be here. He’d rather be anywhere in the world, than here._  
  
There’s a line of people running down the center of the room, and he moves to place himself in the queue, but a hand grasps around his elbow and pulls him off to the side. He’s still facing forward, his eyes still darting around the crowd, but he knows it's her. He can smell her.   
  
Veronica Lodge is the only person he’s ever known that actually wears Chanel N°5, and therefore, the only reason he actually knows what Chanel N°5 smells like.   
  
Her hair is shorter than it was the last time he saw her, raven colored locks that hit just below her chin. He’s wearing what he knows to be her usual attire, a black pencil dress with her statement pearls, and although he can’t tell, he’s sure there are red soles on the bottom of her black heels. Everything about her seems the same as it’s always been, the same as it was years ago, but he knows with the years between their last visit, everything has changed.   
  
“Jones- you’re late.” Her voice is sharp and pulls him out of his head.   
_  
__He doesn’t want to be here. He’d rather be anywhere in the world, than here._  
  
“I’m here now, Ronnie. Have you seen her?” Her dark brown eyes seem to sparkle when he asks his question like she already knows the answer and the secret behind the answer, but he’s clapped on the shoulder before she can respond.   
  
Archie Andrews, with his red hair sticking out all over the place, has traded his denim jeans and flannel button up that is his Nashville staple for a fitted black suit and a white button up, no tie. It feels weird, standing next to his childhood best friend, the person he once knew everything about, and now? Now he only knows the songs he writes are all about Veronica but couldn’t tell you the color of the walls of his apartment or if he has a dog. He assumes there’s probably a dog since the songs are still all about Veronica which means there’s not a girl, Archie Andrews has never been capable of being alone.   
  
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. When they got out of Riverdale, they’d all promised to not lose touch with each other, promised to still be a part of each other’s lives. Somehow, they’ve all managed to fall apart and move on with their lives, and he has no idea who these people are, and they have no idea who he is. It's a long distance from Los Angeles to Paris and an even longer distance between the gap she left in his heart.   
  
_He doesn’t want to be here. He’d rather be anywhere in the world, than here._  
  
His eyes are still scanning for her, but instead, they take in the others that are gathered here as well. Standing in the corner together, laughing and retelling stories of high school adventures. Sitting next to Coach Clayton reliving winning states their senior year. Off huddled in the other corner, avoiding the glares from anxious onlookers are three black leather jackets. Not far from them he sees Sierra McCoy, Riverdale’s former mayor, whose hand is closely linked with Sheriff Tom Keller. Maybe not as much as changed as he thought.   
  
_He doesn’t want to be here. He’d rather be anywhere in the world, than here._  
  
His eyes are still scanning the room for her, for that brilliant blonde hair that shines like the sun lighting up his entire world.  
  
And then, there she is. Close to the front, like he knew she would be. He wonders briefly if he was looking for her there because he knew that’s where she would be, or if he was looking for her there because that Betty-Cooper shaped hole in his heart was drawn towards her.   
  
Towards the one person that can fill that hole in his heart.   
  
_He doesn’t want to be here. He’d rather be anywhere in the world, than here._  
  
Her hair is long, longer than he ever remembered it being before. A lighter blonde, bleached from days spent in the sun. As he’s watching her, trying to re-memorize this new shade of blonde, she spins around in his direction, almost like she can feel him too. Her eyes glance around the room before they finally settle on his, and at that moment, he freezes.   
  
She moves across the room towards him, with the same soft grace and poise that she always has. His eyes stay fixed on her face, taking in the way her green eyes sparkle as she half smiles at him. But it's the redness in her eyes, the puffiness of her face that let him know she hasn’t been sleeping well. She stops on her walk towards him, as people touch her arm or embrace her as she passes, but her eyes stay glued to his the entire time.   
  
_He doesn’t want to be here. He’d rather be anywhere in the world, than here._  
  
 _Hours._ It feels like hours watching her slowly walk closer to him. Like all the years that have passed between them are slowly being erased with each step she takes closer to him.   
  
He feels Veronica and Archie slide away from his side, maybe off to sit in the corner and discuss all the things they should but never do.   
  
She’s close enough now that he can see her hands shaking and he reaches out to grab them, steadying her and pulling her in. It’s an instinct, to protect her. At least it was an instinct. Once, long ago. Until he failed to protect her when she needed him most. And then she left, leaving that Betty-Cooper-shaped hole in his heart.   
  
It’s been years since they’ve been this close, but she still smells the same. Vanilla with a hint of rose. Something new though, coconut, permanently ingrained in her skin from all the days spent on the beach.   
  
Her head connects with his chest, that perfect fit he’s never found with another girl. He leans down and places a kiss on top of her hair before he whispers in his ear how sorry he is.   
  
Her hand intertwines with his as she moves to lean her head against his arm, tugging him slowly up the center of the room. That queue of people parts for him, or maybe its more so for her. His eyes are forward, focused now on that thing in front of him, that thing that called him home here. Back to Riverdale.   
  
It’s then, when they reach the front of the room, that he feels everything hit him all at once. This place, these people, __her. Everything he’s been running from and trying to escape is laying there in front of him.   
  
He feels them then, on the other side of him. Archie and Veronica. The four friends united again to face the terrors of Riverdale. Her hand squeezes his gently, and together they walk closer to face the casket that has called him home.   
  
  
  
  



	2. Veronica Lodge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She feels the tears start to well in her eyes at the same moment she hears the elevator chime their arrival. She wipes her eyes once and checks her reflection in the mirror again. Adjusting her short black locks, she remembers briefly how he used to pull and twist them in their heated moments. There’s not much to pull and twist anymore, but there’s no heated moments either.

Her heels click loudly as she steps across the marble tile and into the mirrored elevator. She feels it in her chest, the breaking and aching feeling that often comes with memories of him. Her body sinks against the railing, thankful for something to grasp on to even for just a moment. Three floors later, the elevator doors open to the only place she’s ever considered home. 

_ The Pembrooke. _

The white marble tile and gold chandeliers, the plush cream carpets -- everything was exactly the same as the last time she’d been here. She might pay rent for a flat in Paris, but this place she owned. Given to her in her parent’s divorce, the Pembrooke and Pop’s were both solely in her name - not that anyone knew that. She kept the place in Riverdale mostly out of nostalgia, making the trip up every time she was in New York. She knew she was foolish for still holding on to it, for still holding on to the dream. 

She wasn’t sure anymore what that dream was. At one time, it’d been her coming back to Riverdale at the same time as a certain red-headed guitar player who currently lived in Nashville. He’d tell her all the ways that he still loved her, that all of the songs he wrote were about her. He’d tell her he had made a mistake and he wanted to figure this out. 

But it was just a dream. And every time she comes here feels like a reminder that he isn’t here. Maybe five years was too long to hold on to a teenage dream, to the hope that he would actually come back to Riverdale. Back to her. 

Except now, like all of her dreams before, he was here. Given, he hadn’t come back for her, but at least he’d come back. 

She drops her bag in her bedroom and searches the closet for a matching black silk pajama set-- her color palette hadn’t expanded much over the years. She washes the makeup off her face, wishing her hair was still long enough to twist up and tuck out of the way. She had cut it though; her days of impressing Archie Andrews had ended long ago when he vowed to never come back to Riverdale. To never come back to her. 

Until he did. 

He’s everywhere she looks- pictures of them in high school are scattered all around her room, never doing the memories justice.  _ Their first time together that night of the Jubilee. The time he’d confessed to her father that she’d given him a key. The time they’d laid on the rug in front of the fireplace, where he first told her he loved her.  _

There are other memories in the room, too. Sleepovers with Betty after football games on Friday nights. Pop’s takeout and four friends huddled together on the floor playing Mario Kart. Plotting and scheming how to survive high school and their parents, together. 

Paris was everything, and she would never for a day regret her decision to move there. Her fashion line took everything she had, all of her waking hours spent pouring over fabric swatches and button accents. It was everything she had dreamed of, everything she had wanted, but it had also taken her away from everything she’d ever known. Some days, she felt so alone. On those nights before Toyko Fashion Week, when she struggled to fall asleep in a hotel room with the city humming below, when she visited LA and could only meet Betty for one brief brunch, when she landed in New York with not enough time on her layover to see Jughead. Some days, she wondered, if things were different if she would move back. She’s established enough now, that theoretically she could manage her business from the States. But in the end, it's just another dream. 

Just like the dream that he would actually come back to Riverdale. Actually come back to her. 

She feels the tears start to well in her eyes at the same moment she hears the elevator chime their arrival. She wipes her eyes once and checks her reflection in the mirror again. Adjusting her short black locks, she remembers briefly how he used to pull and twist them in their heated moments. There’s not much to pull and twist anymore, but there’s no heated moments either. 

He’s right there when she walks into the room, standing in her kitchen like he’s never left, holding two pizzas, while Jughead sets the case of beer down on the counter.

Betty hands her a beer, catching her eye as she reaches to pull down the paper plates from the cupboard above the fridge. Her legs are short when she’s without heels, and his arm brushes hers as he stretches up to help her. She wishes they could escape away to her room, just the two of them, to talk quietly about all the things that need to be said between them, all of the things that have gone years without being said. But maybe it’s too late now. She’s feeling so full of emotions, seeing his face, feeling his arms, seeing him back here. The dream she’s been longing for finally coming true. 

She tips the beer back as she climbs up to sit on the counter, her feet kicking against the cabinets below. She’s vaguely aware of the conversation around her, but she’s struggling to keep up. It’s just typical small talk, sometimes with specific details thrown in. Jughead turns to her and asks her how she’s doing after her breakup with a guy named Charles. It'd been months ago, they hadn't dated for long, and there wasn't much more to say. Her life is too busy for something steady, although she likes to fool herself that she’d make the compromise for the right person. She knows she’s waiting for Archie to be the right person again. 

Eventually, the small group finds their way into the living room, not bothering to turn on the large TV, but starting a fire in the fireplace. It’s been years since they've been back together, years of not talking, but something just seems right as they all sink into one another, giving in to the emotional exhaustion of the day. They’ve shared a closeness that not many friends do, a level of complete comfort and trust.

She watches Betty move around the room, staring at the pictures on the mantle before she picks up one. She doesn’t need to see it to know exactly which frame it is -- the group of friends all in their caps and gowns after graduation, standing outside of Pop’s. It was the last time they were all together before everything changed and everything fell apart. Before Archie shattered her heart with one phone call, before Jughead took off for Toledo before Kevin joined the Marines. Before everything changed. 

She can still see them all together, feel how hot it was that day underneath that polyester gown, can still hear the laughter as the misfit group tried to all squeeze into one picture. They were standing on the edge of their future, so many hopes and dreams in just that one moment, so many promises yet to be broken. 

She settles down into the couch, and Archie sits next to her, so close their knees are touching. Instinctively, she reaches over him, grabs his left arm and traces her fingers over the same thick muscles, now painted with dark lines twisted around his veins. Upon closer inspection, what looks like a standard mess of a tattoo contains a pine tree, the Nashville skyline, an outline of New York state, and a tiny Eiffel Tower. It was a beautiful combination of everything important in his life, and she smiles up at him as she runs her fingers over it. A part of her wants to twist his arm around to better marvel at the small tattoo that pays homage to her, but she pulls away instead and stomps out of the room. 

Alone in the kitchen, she leans back against the counter, closing her eyes and fighting the tears she knows are coming. How easily he sits next to her on the couch, showing off that small tattoo like it’s not a big gesture, like he didn’t once tell her he loved her before leaving her behind. Soft arms envelope around her then, and she knows from the smell of coconut that her blonde best friend had escaped to the kitchen after her. For a moment, the two just stand there, holding each other as the one sobs onto the other's shoulder. 

“I didn’t think it would feel like this, seeing him, B.” Her voice crackled when she finally broke the silence. 

“I know. None of us planned on reuniting like this. I know there’s a lot there between you guys Ronnie, but he still loves you. There’s no way that’s changed. Archie Andrews has been in love with you from the very first time you walked into Pop’s.” 

She leans back against the counter, staring up at the blonde before her. California has been good for her. Her hair is lighter and her skin more tanned, and she’s softer and calmer than she was in their years together here. She doesn’t blame her at all for running to California to escape, especially after her mother had her committed to the Sisters. Hell, she’d ran clear to Paris to get away from the memory of her father. 

She doesn’t move, still leaning on the counter as her best friend moves about the kitchen like she still knows where everything is kept. She’s right, everything is still in the same place. This apartment feels like a time capsule all of a sudden -- memories perfectly frozen and preserved. Memories of dreams that were broken and promises that weren’t kept. She knows what her friend is doing, what she’s looking for, but still watches with an anxious anticipation. The bottom shelf of the cupboard next to the fridge.  _ Tequila. _ The skinny corner cupboard above the sink, bottom-left corner.  _ Shot glasses.  _

It’d been a hard day, with the visitation and the reality of what brought them all back to this place they were once from. They would come to terms with it all tomorrow at the funeral service, but tonight, they would drink. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am blown away by the love, comments and kudos! Thank you so much! I'm so very excited about this, and I'm glad that so many of you are as well!
> 
> follow me on tumblr @theonlyemmaleigh


	3. Archie Andrews

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pawn shop in Dallas cut me a deal on a six string  
> It doesn't know how you look how you laugh how you kiss me  
> Well I'm on the end of the bed and it's way past two  
> I'm stuck on a line cause I know what rhymes with you
> 
> -Still Writing Songs About You (Old Dominion)

A bright yellow light wakes him as he stretches his body, trying to regain the feeling in his left arm. His leg hits something hard and he groans.  _ Where the hell is he? _

He struggles to open his eyes -- the sun is too bright and the room is too white. This is not his childhood bedroom. As he slowly glances around the room, he realizes where he is and a panic starts to settle into his chest.  _ Why the hell is he here? _

A foot that does not belong to him stretches out to kick him in the ribs, and he closes his eyes once more, hoping that this is all just a nightmare.  _ Who the hell is in the bed with him? _

There’s a part of him that’s hoping he’s fallen asleep next to Jughead, but based on who’s bedroom he’s currently in, the chances of his lanky best friend being the body in the bed next to him are slim. He rolls to his side, facing  _ her,  _ already knowing it’s her. It’s always been her. 

Veronica Lodge. 

He panics again when he realizes he’s shirtless, pulling the sheets back quickly and breathing a sigh of relief to find he’s still wearing a pair of sweatpants. Although that doesn’t necessarily mean anything, so he pulls the covers back once again, this time making note of the fact that she’s wearing black silk pajamas.  _ Well, at least we didn’t do that. _

She wiggles in the space next to him, pulling the covers up closer to her face and burrowing into her pillow.It’s the closest he’s been to her in years. In her sleep, her face is calm and relaxed, not scrunched and yelling. Not that he doesn’t deserve all of the yelling, because he does, but it’s nice just to be in the same space as her. Her legs stick straight out to the side like an L, but her head is twisted on the pillow so she’s almost laying on his arm. 

He can't believe he's here with her. It seems like he's spent years writing songs about the one that he left behind, and now here she is, feet kicking directly into his ribs. Her hair is shorter, but that’s not a bad thing, just an observation. Almost on instinct, he wants to reach out and run his fingers through the short waves, but he’s not sure if that a line that’s safe to cross. 

He can’t remember why he’s waking up in her bed, can’t remember where the other two may or may not be sleeping. The last thing he remembers from the night before is Betty Cooper coming back into the living room with a bottle of tequila and four shot glasses. 

He’s sure it probably happened the same way it always used to, the same way it always did when they were still all together. He thought of long ago memories, nights spent like last’s. Memories that were fuzzy from alcohol or exhaustion from a day spent on the river, where they would just collapse together in one heap. He sighed into the raven hair that was laid out in front of him, struggling to believe that he was really here, in this moment, with these friends. It all just felt like another hazy memory.

His head is pounding and the sun is drenching the room, yet he wants nothing more than to pull her body into his and lay here all day. But today is the day. Today is the day that they’ll say their final goodbyes to one of their own. Today is the day they’ve all been called back here to this place that they were once from. 

He gently wraps an arm around her waist, leaning his head to rest of her pillow, closing his eyes to catch just a few more moments of peace before they face the day. His dreams are short lived though, when a blonde slips quietly into the room and climbs into the bed on the other side of her. 

Betty’s eyes are puffy and red. She looks like she’s spent the night crying and not sleeping, and he knows that’s probably the case. He reaches a free hand up to run it through her long waves, trying to find that young girl he grew up beside in the girl from California that’s here in front of him. She smiles that same half smile and sinks further into Veronica’s side. 

He looks up to see Jughead leaning against the door, watching the three of them, and he wonders briefly if he’s going to join them. It used to be something they did, all four of them sharing a bed together. There was never anything sensual about the four of them sleeping together -- their closeness and their friendship had never been burdened by that strain. They were simply four people who had grown up together, experienced life and heartbreak together, and found complete and total comfort in one another. 

Jughead nods in the direction of the kitchen, and he knows he’s being called away to make bacon. He leans over and places a kiss to the top of each girl’s head before he softly climbs out of the bed and steps down the hallway to meet his friend. 

He sits down on a barstool, watching as Jughead pours a mug of coffee and adds creamer before silently sliding the mug across the counter to him. He leans back against the counter, holding his own mug, never taking his eyes off his face. There's something unique about lifelong friendships, those moments of silence where nothing needs to be said because everything is already known. It wasn't more than a moment before they were joined by the petite blonde, who leaned down to kiss Jughead before grabbing a mug of coffee for herself and retreating back down the hall.

“You want to tell me what all of that was?” His tone is inquisitive and protective. He wonders how both of his best friends can so easily fall into their routine from years ago. Like there hasn’t been years of hurt and wasted silence, like Jughead didn’t leave Betty behind too. 

“That, my friend, is what a night of apologizing results in.” His friend half smirks at him, tugging on the dark hair that's fallen into his face. 

“Oh, apologizing? Is that what they're calling it now? You expect me to believe that one night of talking to her and Betty Cooper is so happy to forgive you?” 

“Hey -- I never said she forgave me. I said we talked. That’s all that happened. It’s just… with Betty, it’s always just been…”  _ Easy, comfortable, familiar. _ He was sure he could complete the sentence for him. The two of them, Jughead and Betty, had always moved together as this one unit, even when they weren’t together. But then -- everything had changed and that unit had collapsed into a heap of tears and broken promises. 

He moves around the kitchen with ease, grabbing a pan from the cabinet and finding bacon and eggs in the fridge. A part of him remembers many mornings spent making Veronica breakfast in bed on weekends her parents were gone, but the other part of him wonders why the Pembrooke is fully stocked when they arrived on such short notice. 

Shortly after the bacon is pulled from the frying pan, the elevator dings. Full of her usual flare, Cheryl Blossom walks into the room, red hair swinging, tall black heels clicking across the marble tile. She’s followed by Toni Topaz. She throws a half-hearted “good morning” in their direction before retreating further down the hall to the bedroom Veronica and Betty are in, but the tiny dark-skinned girl with pink hair stops only to steal a piece of bacon from Jughead’s plate before placing a friendly kiss onto his cheek.

Cheryl and Toni had once seemed like an odd pairing -- the maple syrup princess and the Southside Serpent, but they’d found in each other something they’d both been looking for. A sense of normalcy, family and love. Together, they’d taken the Whyte Wyrm back from Hiram Lodge, rebuilding the safe haven for the Serpents. They’ve become sort of a powerhouse in Riverdale -- Toni running the bar on the Southside, Cheryl running the North from her seat in the mayor’s office. Or so he’d heard from his dad -- it’s been years since he’s talked to either of them. 

The kitchen is quiet once again, just him and Jughead who is currently working his way through his second plate of eggs. He knows there’s more to the conversation they were having earlier, before Cheryl and Toni’s arrival, and he wants to go back to that, wants to hear more about Jughead’s too late attempt at an apology, but as he’s pouring himself a third cup of coffee he hears soft footsteps coming down the hallway. 

In the time they’ve been standing in the kitchen, Betty Cooper has managed to shower and dress for the day and her dark black tights have muffled her arrival. She moves to sit on the stool next to Jughead, and he watches as his friend leans up and brushes her hair to the side before placing a kiss on her cheek. 

They move together like the years apart don’t exist. Like Jughead never left her in Riverdale to chase after him, like Betty’s mother didn’t have her committed to the Sisters while he was gone. He watches as she wraps a hand around Jughead’s arm, leaning into his side before she looks up to meet his gaze. Her eyes are the most brilliant green, and though he’d forgotten the exact shade over the years, now that she’s sitting right across from him, he can’t imagine ever forgetting anything about her. 

“She’s asking for you, Arch. Cheryl should be just about finished helping her get ready.” 

He doesn’t need to ask who the  _ her  _ is. He knows without knowing that it’s the same girl who he woke up next to this morning. But he still can’t remember much of the night before, and he’s unsure if he said something he shouldn’t have --if he finally told her about all the songs he’s written about her -- and the thought of facing her alone and sober is slightly frightening. 

He prepares a small plate of eggs, toast and a few slices of bacon, and pours a cup of coffee with cream the way she likes before he carries the breakfast down the hallway to her bedroom. She’s sitting in front of her vanity still, Cheryl working over her short black hair with a curling tool of sorts, so he sets the plate of food down on the bedside table. 

The room remains awkwardly silent, none of the girls acknowledging his presence until Toni mumbles something about “ _ all the tension” _ and leaves to go get more bacon, or so he presumes. 

He slips into the ensuite bathroom, using the time to shower while Cheryl finishes with Veronica’s hair. But it’s not a long enough moment, because when he steps out in only a white t-shirt and his black dress pants, the girls are still trying on outfits. 

His nerves get the best of him, and he begins pacing around the room, waiting for Cheryl to finish helping Veronica decide what to wear. There’s so many memories in this room, in this place. He’s dreamed for years about coming back here, coming home and seeing Veronica again, and now she’s here and she still feels so far away. 

When he left - after Hiram Lodge had him arrested for a murder he didn’t commit, after he escaped from prison even after his name was cleared - there was too much hurt between him and the town, and they weren’t ever going to let him forget it. He came back once, after about a year of hiding out in Canada, hoping she’d still be around but his dad told him she’d gone to Paris. That had been the last time he’d come back. Paris had always been her dream, and he couldn't rob her of that, couldn’t chase her down and beg her to take him back. 

He’s staring at a picture of the two of them; she’s wearing a white dress so it must have been taken at her confirmation because the only other time Veronica wears white is in his dreams. They’re both laughing and she’s leaning into his side, her eyes look up at him instead of at the camera. Veronica Lodge is not one for candid photos, and this might be one of his favorites of her. They look happy and in love, and he figures then that they still were, because this was before everything around them fell apart. Before he left Riverdale and her and didn’t come back. 

“Zip me up?” Her voice breaks him out of his thoughts, and he turns to see her standing next to him with her back facing toward him. The gold zipper on her black dress begs to be pulled up… or down, but he still can’t remember what he said the night before. He tugs it up, tucks her short hair out of the way, and then clasps the set of pearls she hands him around her neck. 

“I never thought you’d cut your hair so short, Ronnie. It suits you though…” 

“I’m glad you’re here today, Archiekins.” Her hand reaches out for his and for a moment he panics, remembering last night when she reached for his tattoos before pulling away and stomping off into the kitchen. Is this a thing they do now? Touch each other and share a bed and not talk about it? Not talk about how he left her behind?

There’s nowhere else in the world he’d rather be though, than here in her bedroom with her. Here with these people in this place. He tugs on her arm, pulling her closer into him and wraps his arms around her small frame. She smells like Chanel N°5 and roses, so uniquely Veronica Lodge. He takes a risk, placing a light kiss to the top of her forehead, and her eyes dart up to meet his like she’s begging for more. He thinks briefly about if that’s a line he’s willing to cross. It’s probably just the emotions of today, of the last few days, her seeking comfort in him because he’s familiar, not because she actually wants to seek comfort in him. 

But before he can gather the nerves to kiss her, still internally debating with himself, the bedroom door opens, and he sees Jughead and Betty enter the room, hands clasped tightly together. Her eyes are red, like she’s been crying again.

“You guys ready? Cheryl and Toni just left, said they’d meet us there.” Jughead’s voice breaks the silence in the room, breaking up what might have been a moment.

He reaches down, intertwining his fingers with Veronica’s and squeezes her hand gently as the four friends move toward the elevator, grabbing coats and shoes along the way. 

Last night, seeing the whole town at the visitation had reminded him of all of the reasons why he had left. Eyes had followed him around the room, the once golden boy who had fallen from grace and broken the heiress’s heart. However, the same as the day before, today was not about him. Today was about, well, today was the reason they had all came back here in the first place. Outside of the Pembrooke, as he helped her into the black town car that sat waiting, he realized that maybe they’d all been called back to Riverdale for another reason. Maybe the one final wish had been that the four friends reunited, mended their broken relationships with each other and the place that they were once from. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of the love, comments, and kudos! Special love to Alix @pyschobetts who has been betaing this little nugget for me! I strongly suggest you listen to Still Writing Songs About You by Old Dominion, it's always given me strong Varchie vibes and it's one of my favorites!


	4. Betty Cooper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her pace is quick down the aisle of the diner and the air outside stings her face - she’s left her coat sitting in the booth. She feels her legs shake slightly before giving out, and the hard cement rips at her tights. It’s all too much -- being back here in this place, being with these people, being with him, the reason they are all back here. Everything comes rushing back at once, and she wants nothing more than to escape. Back on a plane to California and sunshine and warmth and far away from here. She hears the door open behind her, the faint bell chiming, but she doesn’t need to look up to know that it’s him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note at the beginning this time- because hey- did you know this doesn't follow canon?

His hand is still tightly grasped in hers, he hasn’t let it go for hours. He’s held it through the funeral service, the receiving line, and the committal service at the cemetery. He’s stood right there, by her side, stroking his fingers across her knuckles and steadying her. She knows this is fleeting and foolish, the way they’ve so easily fallen back into each other, but there’s always been something about them that's been… easy, comfortable, familiar. 

She’s thankful for him though, thankful for a sense of normalcy in all of this mess. 

It just feels right, being back here in this place, being back here with him. Like the way it should have always been, would have always been, if he hadn’t left her behind. 

The other hand that isn’t firmly holding hers reaches up to pull the door to the diner open, a familiar chime rings as the small group of four steps inside. 

It’s weird being back here, back in this place. Everything seems so much the same, the red and grey booths, the white formica tiled countertops. Everything seems so much the same, except it’s not. 

They make their way toward the back, toward a booth by the window that at one time they frequented on an almost daily basis. The man behind the counter smiles at the group as they walk past, but it’s the “good afternoon, Miss Lodge”, that makes her turn and stare at her friend with the short dark locks. 

“Miss Lodge?” There’s more to her question than what comes out, but their friendship has spanned years and Veronica already knows the real question she’s asking. 

“It’s really not a big deal. In my parent’s divorce, they gave me the Pembrooke and Pop’s, because they couldn’t agree who they should go to and wouldn’t agree to sell them.”

That explained a lot, like the stocked fridge and the fresh towels in the bathroom. It seems that Veronica is still very much the planner, and has called ahead and had things readied for their stay. She’s not really surprised. Veronica goes on to explain that she comes back here every few months or so, mostly when she’s got to be in New York, to make sure things are running smoothly even though most of the day to day business doesn’t need to be handled in person. 

A waitress comes over, in the same yellow cotton uniform that Veronica wore when she worked here in high school. They all order their usual -- an assortment of burgers, french fries, onion rings, and milkshakes and it strikes her how much everything is still the same. The booth, the food, the uniform, the chime above the door. But nothing is really the same anymore, is it?

No, nothing is the same here, even if it sometimes appeared that way. Her mother had sold the white house on Elm street that she grew up in years ago, after Betty had left for California, and yesterday when she’d driven past it, it’d been painted tan with green shutters. With her dad in prison and her mom happy at the Farm, there wasn’t a reason to keep roots in this town anymore. Until now, she hasn’t had a reason to come back. 

The waitress comes back with their tray of milkshakes, and his arm casually slinks across her shoulders as she sinks into his side. He still smells the same, like fresh soap and cigarettes, even though she doesn’t remember seeing him have a cigarette since he’s been here. Her mind drifts back to the night before, to waking up beside him in the spare bedroom of the Pembrooke. 

His arms had been wrapped around her, her head resting on his chest. It felt right, like the way it should have always been, would have always been, if he hadn’t left her behind. She can’t remember the last time she slept so solidly through the night - probably that night before they’d rescued Archie, that last night they’d spent in the bunker. She wonders briefly if it’s still there, if she could still find it in the woods. The bunker is as ingrained in her as Pop’s is, a part of her like she’s a part of this town.

But he had. Left her that is. And even though she wraps a hand around his arm, leans into his side, there’s still a hurt there. There’s still the reminder of the time when she needed him the most and he was gone. 

The bell above the diner chimes again, announcing the arrival of another patron. Her eyes dart up and she smiles as her old friend makes his way toward the group. His dress blues bring out the blue in his eyes, and he carries himself with a confidence he didn’t have five years ago. He slides into the open spot next to her, placing a soft kiss to the top of her head, and for a moment, everything feels the same. Like it always has, like they've always been here, doing this, together. 

Over another round of milkshakes, he tells tales of his latest deployment to Syria, of Adam, the emergency room physician he’s been seeing for a year, of his father’s wedding to Sierra McCoy in Las Vegas the year before, but it’s when he mentions that he leaves tomorrow that she realizes it.

So does she. Tomorrow. Her flight leaves out of New York in the morning, leaving her with just over 16 hours left to, what? Wrap up her feelings for  _ him,  _ or decide where to go from here. She kept thinking she had more time, that they all had more time together. But the reality is that they all have lives they’ve left behind when they were called back to the place that they were once from. 

She doesn’t really hear Kevin ask Jughead if he plans to visit his dad while he’s here, because she’s still trying to wrap her head around the fact that she’s leaving in the morning, that their little time together is already coming to an end. But it’s his reply that she hears, that causes her to spin away from him, her hand falling from his arm. 

“There’s not really anything I have to say to him, short of -  _ thanks for convincing me to follow after Archie and make me lose the love of my life. _ ” His words are jarring, cutting into her as she tries to breathe.  _ The love of my life. _

It’s been five years, they were young and in high school, and he still thinks of her as the love of his life?

Around her, the conversation continues without her -- Veronica telling him he should visit his dad while he still can. Hiram Lodge never made it to prison, choosing to take the coward’s way out when the police had stormed his New York townhouse 3 years back. Embezzlement charges would’ve put him away for life, but he had chosen sleeping pills instead.

As she pushes into Kevin, indicating for him to let her out of the booth, the small group freezes, a silence coming over them. She’s sure no one else thinks her reaction is due to Jughead’s comment and more related to Veronica’s comment about visiting his dad while he still can, since it’s been years since she’s been to see her own father in prison. No, it seems the little group of friends was too preoccupied to even notice Jughead’s comment.  _ The love of my life. _

Her pace is quick down the aisle of the diner and the air outside stings her face - she’s left her coat sitting in the booth. She feels her legs shake slightly before giving out, and the hard cement rips at her tights. It’s all too much -- being back here in this place, being with these people, being with him, the reason they are all back here. Everything comes rushing back at once, and she wants nothing more than to escape. Back on a plane to California and sunshine and warmth and far away from here. She hears the door open behind her, the faint bell chiming, but she doesn’t need to look up to know that it’s him. 

That all familiar scent of soap and cigarettes encompasses her, and he leans down to wrap his arms around her. There’s a brief moment where she considers staying in his warmth, wrapped in his familiarity, but then she remembers.  _ The love of my life. _

“You can’t blame your dad for that, Jug. For losing me…” Her voice trails off as the tears overflow from her eyes. 

He sinks down next to her on the cement, wrapping his arms around her. “I’ll be apologizing for it for the rest of my life, but I should have been here with you. I should have been here to save you.”

“It was never that, Jug. I didn’t need you to save me or protect me or ride in on a white horse and carry me away from that hell. But I needed you to stand by me, to support me against the craziness of my mother, and you left. I  _ broke _ . And now? You call me the love of your life like I'm just so easily going to forgive you? I can't. I can't forgive you, Jug.” 

Her heart thuds in her chest as her eyes look up into his, and she remembers so vividly the day she needed him and he wasn’t there. 

_ She’d been plotting her escape for weeks. Faking a seizure had landed her in the infirmary, where she’d picked the lock on the medicine cabinet and located a handful of sleeping pills. Not enough to cause damage, just enough to make someone sleep for a solid 12 hours. Ground up and mixed into the glass of water Ethel left by her bedside, there was no one to report her to Sister Woodhouse when she snuck out of her bedroom that night. She’d memorized the route, she’d been caught enough to know what to avoid and which turns to take. Past the dining room, down the stairs. Careful over the 4th step down, it sometimes creaked. Past the security desk, having timed her trip just right when she knew the officer on duty would be in the employee kitchen for his late-night snack. She’d failed at this enough to know that everyone here followed a routine.  _

_ Past the security desk, there was a small broom closet. Another bobby pin in the lock and it twisted open with ease. A small ladder led down to the boiler room, down to her freedom.  _

_ Veronica had marked a door with an X a few months back, during her Cheryl Blossom rescue mission, but she’d learned from past experiences that that door had been walled off. No, there was only one way she hadn’t gone yet, and she was hoping her theory was right. Around the corner from the X marked door was a small, narrow tunnel. She’d have to crawl on her hands and knees. The tunnel carried on for miles it felt like before finally, she approached a ladder, and her heart skipped a beat. She knew this place.  _

_ Her theory had been right. All of the tunnels in Riverdale were connected, here, to this one outlet. If she continued straight on this tunnel, it would lead her right into Leopold and Loeb Juvenile Detention Center where just a month earlier, she’d helped Archie Andrews escape. Her hands were shaking as she gripped the ladder rungs, climbing higher and higher to that small grated opening. Thankful for balance and coordination, she rested her body against the ladder as her hands worked quickly to find the release latch. A month ago, she’d been on the other side, ready and waiting to pull Archie to freedom, but this time, when she pushed the latch open and felt the crisp night air on her face, she was alone.  _

_ She stumbled in the wrong direction for a while before gaining her bearings and heading off toward Riverdale, back toward the town. The woods of Fox Forest were dense, the shadows called out to her as she ran past the trees. She wasn’t sure where she was headed, she knew her house would be the first place they’d look for her and she doubted the trailer was safe either -- FP would call her mother before she even got to Jughead, so she headed instead in the direction of the bunker.  _

_ Inside, the air felt heavy, all semblance of domestication was gone. No sheets, no candles, no food in the small fridge. The drawings that had hung on the wall, their theories about the Gargoyle King had been stripped down, and only the bare peeling yellow paint remained.  _

_ She spent that whole night hoping he’d show up, hoping the gate above the bunker would open and he would climb down to her. The next morning though, she’d found Veronica at Pop’s who told her they were gone. That they were both gone.  _

_ She’d spent the first night at the Pembrooke, but knowing what she knew about Hiram Lodge’s involvement with the fizzle rocks from the Sisters, she didn’t feel safe sleeping there long-term. With her mother gone to the Farm and Jughead who knows where, she wandered through the woods back to the bunker. It was cold and dark and dank and she’d never felt so alone in her life as she curled herself into a tight ball, wrapped up in a blanket Veronica had given her.  _

_ That first night alone she didn’t remember sleeping much, didn’t remember crying much, but Veronica commented on her red and puffy eyes the next morning when she brought her a breakfast sandwich from Pop’s. They’d sat together for hours, trying to come up with a plan, now that they were effectively without their parents and without Archie and Jughead.  _

_ The dreams she’d had with Jughead, of NYU and New York, of a studio apartment with a dog they rescued from a shelter, had come crashing down around her. It took a few days of brainstorming and crying before she’d formulated a plan with Veronica. A plan, that fortunately did not involve them staying in Riverdale, but unfortunately did not involve them staying together.  _

_ Veronica had cleared out her savings account, moving all of it into a private account that her parents didn’t have access to, and bought a one-way ticket to France. She was determined to figure things out on her own, worry about design school and a job and a place to stay when she got there, but for now she just needed to get away. Everything in this town felt like him, felt like a constant reminder of the boy who’d left and not come back.  _

_ It’d taken Betty a little longer to get her plans in order. She didn’t have the access to funds like Veronica did, and with one parent in jail and one parent in a cult, there wasn’t much support. But she’d made a plan, thankful that for a short time her plans with Jughead had included California and there’d been an acceptance letter to UCLA with her name on it.  _

_ There really wasn’t any reason for her to stay in Riverdale through the summer, after Veronica left for France and Kevin had left for boot camp, and Archie and Jughead were wherever Archie and Jughead were.  _

_ She’d saved up a little bit of money picking up odd shifts at Pop’s, enough to buy a bus ticket west. She’d broken into her old house and raided the closet for a few essentials, but in the end, almost everything got left behind, except for a picture the four of them had taken a few months before at graduation. Before everything had fallen apart. Before Jughead and Archie had left and not come back.  _

_ Her duffel bag slung over her shoulder, she took one more glance around the kitchen of her childhood home, noticing the pink phone still sitting on the counter. She thought for a moment about picking it up, taking it with her, but decided in the end to leave it behind too. A clean break, a fresh start.  _

_ She made her way back to the bunker one last time, the coldness calling out to her. It was the same cold emptiness she felt in her heart.  _

_ The next morning, before the sun was up, she climbed the ladder rungs of the bunker one last time, leaving behind only a note, should he ever find his way back here and think to look for her here. _

**_I hope one day we find each other again. Maybe years from now we’ll both come back here and make new promises. Maybe then we won’t break them._ **

**_I will love you for always,_ **

**_BC_ **

“Please, Betty.” His voice breaks through the noise in her head, pulling her out of her memories and back to the moment. Back to him. “Please don’t leave me with just a note again.” 

She sinks further into his side, into his arms and into his scent, her body instinctively trying to memorize it all. Because she knows, tomorrow, note or no note, she’ll be leaving this place and going back to California. Tears roll down her face as he brushes her hair over her shoulder, so he can place a kiss to her forehead. It’s wet and she realizes he’s crying too. 

The cold wind whips around them and she's shivering, but they sit there still wrapped into each other, tears falling down their faces. 

Tomorrow, she would wake up again in his arms. He would drive her to the airport, hold her hand and carry her bags before kissing her goodbye and telling her he loves her. She'd cry, he'd cry, but in the end, she'd still get on the plane. But that's tomorrow and there’s still tonight before tomorrow comes.


	5. Jughead Jones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wasn’t sure if he’d fallen asleep, or if he just laid there watching her sleep. Sometime after 2 in the morning, she finally stopped crying and fell asleep with her head on his chest. He ran his fingers through her blonde hair, trying to memorize everything about her and this moment. How in the world was he supposed to just let her go again?

He parks his rusted blue truck in the parking garage across the street from his apartment. The elevator is still broken because of course it is, it’s only been three days. His body groans as he trudges up the stairs toward his apartment.  _ How has it only been three days? _

Everything feels different as he turns his key in the lock, but upon pushing the door open, everything is the same as he’d left it. There is still a load of laundry that needs to be folded tossed in a chair in the corner, still a lone, rotting banana on the kitchen counter, still his same dirty towel hanging from a hook in the bathroom. 

_ He doesn’t want to be here. He’d rather be anywhere else in the world than here.  _

Except, he knows exactly where in the world he would rather be. Her plane is probably halfway over Kansas right now, but wherever she is, is where he’d rather be. The last few days feel like a dream - like he’d been covered in a Betty Cooper haze that left him unsure of reality. Did she really come back? Did he really spend the last two nights with her in his arms? Did he really hold her hand as he kissed her goodbye at the airport just a few hours before, like it was nothing - like he’d see her in a few days?

What he wouldn’t give to go back in time, just a few hours, to hold her in his arms again.

_ He wasn’t sure if he’d fallen asleep, or if he just laid there watching her sleep. Sometime after 2 in the morning, she finally stopped crying and fell asleep with her head on his chest. He ran his fingers through her blonde hair, trying to memorize everything about her and this moment. How in the world was he supposed to just let her go again? _

_ His mind was reeling, trying to formulate a plan to not let this blonde slip out of his life again, but everything he came up with seemed so futile. He had a life in New York that sometimes pulled him away for weeks at a time and she… she had a life in LA, spending her days editing for the Chronicle. He couldn’t ask her to give that up for him. He wouldn’t ask her to.  _

_ That morning, the four friends gathered one last time for breakfast, and he watched from the side as she whipped up her famous Betty Cooper waffles - filled with chocolate chips with powdered sugar sprinkled on top.  _

_ She cried again as she hugged Archie and Veronica goodbye, promised to do better at keeping in touch, and joked about starting a group text. They all promised that they wouldn’t fall into their old ways of going months, years, without talking to each other or seeing one another. Too much had happened in the last three days to let each other fall away again.  _

_ He held her hand the whole drive to New York, kissed her at every red light along the way, carried her bag all the way to the security checkpoint. She was crying again as he wrapped his arms around her one last time, as he whispered in her ear how much he loved her. After a promise to call him when her flight landed, she kissed him softly on the cheek before she turned around. He stood and watched as she meandered her way through the line, passing through the checkpoint before she stole another glance. She smiled, even as her tears continued to fall.  _

His eyes dart around his small apartment again as he takes in how much everything is the same, even though he is so very different than when he last left.

_ He doesn’t want to be here. He’d rather be anywhere in the world than here.  _

Exhaustion takes over and he collapses on his bed without bothering to take a shower. He feels drained from all of the emotion of the last few days, from going back to the place that they were once from, from being with all of them again, from being with  _ her _ again. As his mind drifts off to sleep, all he sees is her with her blonde hair splayed out across his chest, sleeping tightly in his arms. That smell of vanilla and coconut seeps through even in his dreams. 

  
  
  


It’d been a week. A week since he’d seen her, since he’d kissed her goodbye at the airport. She is everywhere he goes. He sees her on the sidewalk, a blonde browsing a newspaper stand. She’s in line ahead of him at the coffee place on the corner, ordering a white chocolate mocha and banana nut bread, or rushing out of Anthropologie with her arms weighed down with bags. In this city that has become his home, he sees her everywhere. 

And not just in the city. He sees her in his kitchen, covered in flour as she pulls snickerdoodle cookies out of the oven. She’s there, asleep on the couch with a book open across her chest or stepping out of his shower wrapped in only a towel. He sees her in all of these places that she’s never been, and will never be, and it’s haunting him. 

It’s only been a week and she’s all he can think about. 

She’d kept her promise, calling him when her flight landed in LA, and a phone call to check in has become a thing they do nightly. He tells her about the ham and cheese sandwich he ordered from the deli down the street, and she tells him about spending her lunch hour on Venice Beach, watching the waves crash into the sand. Little mundane things, that make him feel like she’s a part of his life and he’s a part of hers. Because she is. She still is the love of his life. 

Weeks go by and turn into months and the cold winter turns into a rainy spring. Each day that passes since the last time he’s seen her feels like another crack in his heart. He can feel the walls of his apartment caving in around him, breaking him. He needs to see her, more than just through FaceTime or her Instagram. He needs to see her, to feel her hand wrapped in his, to smell the coconut in her hair. 

He remembers how he’d felt when he finally came back to Riverdale after chasing Archie. When he’d finally made it to the bunker and found her note. Desperate and alone. 

_ He spent that first night back sleeping in the bunker, her scent still lingering on the sheets. He clung to it, to her scent, to this last little bit of her that was still here. The next morning, out of desperation, he broke into her house. He stalked through the door, down the hallway, looking for any sign of her presence, and he found it there on the kitchen counter - her phone. She never got his messages.  _

_ Upstairs in her bedroom, he searched the closet, marveling at how little she’d taken with her, holding onto a useless hope that maybe that meant she’d come back here. It felt like he was invading her privacy, but he was craving any small piece of her, any small piece of hope. He reached for a small series of pictures that sat on her vanity, taken in a photo booth just a few months ago, and he tucked it into his back pocket. How had it only been a few months ago that they were this happy? _

_ He waited a month, hoping she’d come home or call or anything. But there was nothing. No word even from her mom, who his dad said had gone to the Farm. The town felt suffocating without her in it -- especially with his dad is drinking again -- and he knew he needed to get away. He needed to start over, in a place that she wasn’t everywhere.  _

_ Because here, she was -- in a booth at Pop’s, in the bunker, in the trailer.  _

_ He snuck into her house once more the night before he left for Toledo. Alice, still at the Farm and seemingly unaware that her daughter had even left, hadn’t sold the house yet. Everything was still the same as the last time he was there - the same newspaper sat on the kitchen table, the same afghan blanket was left unfolded over the couch, the same dirty laundry was in the basket.  _

_ He found his way upstairs to her room, untouched as the rest of the house. He used to tease her about the excessive pink and white when they were younger, and then later he’d teased her about all of the ways he’d defiled her innocence on the soft, ruffled bed. He just wanted to be close to her, to feel her again. He sunk into the same pink and white sheets that her scent still clung to. The faint hint of vanilla calmed him as he drifted off to sleep.  _

He’d never told her about how he’d slept in her bed the last night before he left for Toledo. Something about it had always felt crazed. But everything had fallen apart when she’d left and he’d just needed something, some small part of her that was familiar.

He’d been in Toledo for over a year before he heard from her, even if it was in the form of an Instagram notification that  **@bcoop** had started following him. He’d scrolled through her pictures, and noticed that her blonde hair was lighter and longer, her smile was bright and her eyes dancing. She seemed happy, happier than she’d been in a while.  _ Maybe it’s best this way _ , he’d thought.  _ Best that she got out of Riverdale, that she found a piece of happiness. _

His latest book is almost ready for release, and even though he’d taken a tour shortly after coming back from Riverdale, his publisher is already pushing for another one, longer, covering more cities and more states. When he looks at his calendar and sees the dates he’s scheduled to be in LA, he thinks briefly of telling her, though he concludes that a surprise is better. 

In a strange twist of fate though, when he lands in LA a few weeks later, he has a message from her saying she’s in town for a few days for a work conference and wants to know if he can meet up for lunch. 

Everything in him twists in pain as he calls her, and hears the defeat in her voice before she laughs about how they’ve switched cities. He gives her directions to that deli down the street from his apartment and tells her to try the ham and cheese sandwich. The second she hangs up the phone with him, he calls the deli and pays for her order. The text she sends him a few minutes later makes him want to book the next plane home.  _ For our next date, let’s plan on being in the same city at the same time.  _

He can hear the laughter in her voice, and her words ring in his ears.  _ For our next date. _

He spends three days in LA and a week in Chicago before he’s back in New York, and now everything seems different. In all of these places he’d once only imagined her, she’d  _ actually  _ been, and now he can’t get those images out of his mind. Now when he stops at the deli, he sees her laughing through the window, sees her crossing the street ahead of him, sees her hailing a cab. 

The elevator in his apartment building is still broken, and his legs ache as he carries himself up the stairs. He wants nothing more than to order take-out from the Chinese place he loves, to sit on the couch and watch  _ Making a Murderer _ , but he stops first at his neighbor’s to pick up his mail. 

He tosses it on the table, intending to go through it later, but something in the stack catches his eye -- a thick, red, embossed envelope. He has a feeling he already knows what it is before he opens it.  _ It’s about time _ , he thinks, as he peels open the envelope. 

It’s an invitation, calling him back to the place that he was once from. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Few things- if you're crying, I'm crying with you. I promise it gets easier from here. Also- the ham and cheese sandwich that's referenced is inspired by my favorite sandwich from this local deli that has grilled ham, cheddar, and provolone, but its the thin sliced deli-style ham and it's perfection. All grilled cheeses should have ham. 
> 
> All of the beta love to @psychobetts for reworking my disaster. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for all of the comments, kudos and love! I truly appreciate it!


	6. Veronica Lodge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe that was it. Maybe her life was a rom-com, the final scene looming ahead, she thinks to herself as she sinks into the spare bed later that evening. Her big, dramatic gesture is staring her straight in the face, and there is no going back from here.

She leans against the handrail in the elevator, feeling the exhaustion begin to take over. She slips her red-soled shoes off, flexing her toes in order to regain feeling in them. In the last week, she doubts she’s slept more than four hours a night, and she wants nothing more than a lengthy bubble bath. 

Coming home from a trip to New York to pick up new fabric swatches, she’s thankful her trip coincided with her best friend’s time in New York. Betty and her spent the time they weren’t both working, kicking through rain puddles in Central Park, the Mandarin for spa treatments or at Robert’s for brunch. Their short reunion in Riverdale had been clouded, but it had felt so good to have time for just the two of them, away from the mess and emotions that had come with their last trip. 

She’d watched Betty’s face as Jughead played tour guide, sending them to all of his favorite places. She’d felt torn watching her best friend be happy. She wanted that happiness for herself. 

She’d called Archie when she first landed in New York, hoping he’d have time to break away from Nashville and come up, even if just for a day. He’d sent two dozen roses to her hotel room the next morning with a note that said he was in Tulsa and couldn’t make it, but that he liked knowing she was on the same continent as him. She’d heard it in his voice when he called her after his show--how truly sorry he was that he couldn’t be there, with her 

Since Riverdale, they’d morphed into a support network for each other--they’d call each other after their shows to gush about their respective successes. He’d tell her over and over how proud he was of her for following her dreams, and she’d tell him how she always knew he’d make a name for himself. 

Somewhere along the way, they started sending each other daily pictures. Her in her office, design sketches covering her desk, and him on his balcony with his guitar. It’s a small way that they can still be a part of each other's lives, a small way of holding on. 

They’d never had the conversation they both knew they needed to have--the conversation about where to go from here, or if there was even a here to go from. Maybe being back in Riverdale had been only to mend their friendship, not to rebuild a relationship. Truthfully, it seemed there was no hope for them when they didn’t even live on the same continent.

  
  


As she pushes open the door to her flat in Paris, everything seems to crash down around her. The exhaustion from the flight, the joy on Betty’s face, the heartbreak of not being able to see him when she felt like she was  _ so close _ , even though she was still miles away--it all lands at her feet. New York had been beautiful in the way that New York always was, and it made her miss being in the States - made her think again that maybe it was time to move back. It would be easier to manage Pop’s from there, and even though she doesn’t see her mother much, they could at least be in the same city, and she could run her fashion line from New York just as well as she could from Paris. 

There was so much there though, in New York. So many memories that felt  _ bitter _ . She’d grown up in the city, on the Upper East Side, a Blair Waldorf come to life. The first time her father was arrested for fraud and embezzlement, she'd watched as he was lead away in handcuffs. The next day, her mother had moved her to Riverdale and her whole world changed. The second time her father was arrested, she thankfully wasn’t around to see it. She’d been in Paris for about three years, missing the fall-out from her parent's divorce the year earlier. And then the charges had come down, and the sentencing and her father had chosen to take his own life rather than face a lifetime in prison. She didn’t come home for the funeral--she’d sworn off her father years ago when he ran Archie Andrews out of town after having him falsely convicted of murder. The only heartbreak she felt was knowing that even though her father was now no longer a threat, Archie still wouldn't come back to Riverdale. Back to her. 

There was something different about this trip though, something that felt different than all of the other trips she’d made back to New York for work over the years. The spring air and her heart felt lighter, and as she watched the glow on her best friend’s face, she thought that maybe this wasn’t the same New York she’d known before. She wasn’t the same girl that she’d been before. Something had changed in her when she’d come back to Riverdale.  _ Everything _ had changed in her. 

  
  
  
  


She has a rule to always give herself the day off after traveling, and the next morning after sleeping in past nine, she spends an hour in a bubble bath before venturing out to a small café down the street for a coffee and her favorite croissant. 

She spots a couple across the street, and for a moment it feels like she's looking a window to the past... The man’s red hair is sticking up in odd directions, his hand linked with a brunette girl with pearls around her neck.

Almost instantly, she's imagining Archie there beside her, and she’s showing him all of the city she's made her home in. 

His hand is wrapped tightly around hers while they walk along the Seine.

Visiting  _ Le Mur Des Je t’aime _ and telling each other all of the things they love about the other. 

Spinning around on  _ Hotel de Ville’s  _ carousel. 

Of all of her favorite things to do in the city, walking the streets with a coffee and a croissant with her hand in his, the simplicity in the moment and gesture--is all she truly wants. 

Here she is, in the city that has seen her dreams come true, and all she can think of is him. 

She wanders the streets aimlessly for several hours. She sees him everywhere she looks. 

Watching the street performers in the  _ Pont Saint-Louis.  _

Laying on the grass of the  _ Parc du Champ de Mars,  _ staring up at the Eiffel Tower. 

Riding on a scooter through the streets. 

He's everywhere. Except for  _ here _ . 

There's tears welling in her eyes by the time she makes it back to her flat. Never has she felt so alone in this city. This city that she thought was her home now feels empty. 

She stops to grab her mail, rifling through it as she walks to the elevator. A red embossed envelope falls out and she instantly knows what it is.  _ About time,  _ she thinks. An invitation, calling her back to the place that she was once from. 

  
  


It’s only a few short weeks later that she finds herself packing to head back to New York again. Cheryl Blossom has never known how to not over-do things, and that includes planning a wedding at the last minute. The weeks before have been spent on group phone calls and Pinterest boards, piecing together the last minute details. 

And trying to figure out what it is she really wants. Being back in Paris after her trip with Betty, she couldn’t find the happiness that she had before she left, and it’s starting to make her think that maybe the happiness was always just a mask. Just a way of coping and trying to forget. Like if she could build an empire and a life here, in France, then maybe she could forget about the dreams she’d left behind in upstate New York. 

She calls Jughead before she boards her plane, double checking that he’s still planning on meeting her at the airport. Once settled in her first class seat, she can’t stop her feet from tapping, can’t calm herself down. Not that she’s nervous about flying, no. She’s nervous about this trip back to Riverdale, nervous about the plans she’s making, nervous about seeing  _ him.  _

When she’d flown back to Riverdale for the funeral, she hadn’t known what she was coming back to. But now, she knew what she’d been without, she knew what was waiting for her. This trip wasn’t just a small venture home for a friend’s wedding, it felt like something more, like the moment that everything would change. 

Her flight lands in New York just after seven that evening. Exhausted and jet-lagged, she’s thankful when Jughead suggests Chinese takeout for dinner. 

They sit in comfortable silence eating straight from the takeout containers until she heads into the kitchen carrying her empty wine glass. Her heart is aching, breaking, trying to figure out if she’s making the right choice or the biggest mistake of her life. 

“Ronnie…” his voice is soft as he enters the room, leaning against the counter across from her. 

“This is all a huge mistake, isn’t it Jug?” She feels her shoulders drop as she looks up at him, tears starting to fall from her eyes. 

He moves the short distance across the small room, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into him. 

“Veronica, no. Archie Andrews has been in love with you since the first time he saw you in Pop’s. He’s never stopped loving you. But don’t you think maybe you should have talked to him about this?”

“What if he says no?”

“He’s not going to. But you already know that, don’t you?” She pulls back from his hold, realizing he’s right. It wasn’t that she was worried what Archie would think about the decision she’d made--she was terrified about his response. Maybe Jughead was right, and she should have talked to him before, but she’d watched too many rom-com’s in her youth to not be a believer in surprises and grand romantic gestures. 

Maybe that was it.  _ Maybe her life was a rom-com, the final scene looming ahead _ , she thinks to herself as she sinks into the spare bed later that evening. Her big, dramatic gesture is staring her straight in the face, and there is no going back from here. 

The next morning, she wakes suddenly, sleepily trying to take in her surroundings. Her body feels like she hasn’t slept at all, but the clock on the bedside table lets her know it’s been a few hours. The edge of the bed dips and she looks over to see her blonde best friend lying next to her. Her friend reaches out to run her fingers through her short dark locks. 

“Morning, Ronnie.” 

“Morning. What time did your flight get in?” 

“Just over an hour ago. We just got back from the airport. Speaking of airports, you’d better get up. You’ve got a very busy morning ahead of you, missy.” 

She feels her body groan, wanting nothing more than to pull the covers up over her head. She’s not ready to face the day, to face the morning. Archie’s flight comes in just after noon, but she has a lot of things to take care of before that--before they head to Riverdale for the festivities. 

But if her life really is a rom-com, then it’s time for her to face her grand romantic gesture. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never been to Paris, so I truly apologize if I didn't get that part right. 
> 
> All of the love to @psychobetts for holding my hand and encouraging me through this 
> 
> I'm blown away by all of the love, comments and kudos, I'm glad you all are as excited about this as I am!
> 
> follow me on tumblr @miss-eee (because hey- did you see I changed my url?)


	7. Archie Andrews

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One kiss before I leave you  
> And one more for the wind  
> Every day I hope and pray  
> To be with you again
> 
> -To Be With You Again, The Steeldrivers

Sitting on his balcony overlooking the Cumberland River, he strums his guitar, trying to fit the words with the melody. He’s writing something about a black dress and pearls, but it’s the same thing all over again. It’s always the same thing. His manager had told him earlier in the week that he needed to try dating, needed to find someone new to sing about, but he knows it’s useless. There will never be anyone new to sing about, only her. 

He jots down notes about sparkling white lights and a city of love, about croissants and coffee and laying in the grass, but none of it fits. He can’t make anything flow together; it’s all just a mess of emotions and words. 

He hasn’t written anything new since he got back from Riverdale. He can’t figure it out, but something shifted in him when he saw her again, and now even just singing about her doesn’t feel the same, let alone writing about her. It was different before, when she was a long-ago dream, but now that he’s seen her, felt her, held her, he can’t find his way back to where he was before. And truthfully, he’s not sure if he wants to find his way back -- if he wants to forget how it felt to see her, to feel her, to hold her. 

He calls her every night after he finishes a show. He tries to tell her what it feels like to play in front of a crowd, even the small bar crowds, but he can’t always find the words. One night he sends her a selfie. 

And then it becomes this thing that they do --sending each other daily pictures of the most mundane things. Her in her studio alongside a clothing rack of new dresses. Him playing cards on his tour bus somewhere between Dallas and Austin. It’s this small way that they have of still being a part of each other's lives, this small way of holding on. 

He’d been in Tulsa when his phone buzzed, and looking down he saw a picture of her and Betty squeezed together in front of a billboard in Times Square. His heart had ached, knowing she was so close but still so far away. He’d had a show that night and then an overnight drive to New Orleans for a show the next, so he knew there was no chance of getting away to see her. He’d sent roses to her hotel room and a small note that said he was glad she was on the same continent. 

Maybe that’d be the title of his next song --  _ The Continental Divide. _ That was if he could ever find the words. 

She’d been back in France for two weeks when his manager booked him a show in New York. There’d been something heartbreaking and ironic about being in the place that she’d just been. 

He had forgone a hotel room to stay with Jughead. It’s was an overnight trip, so after his set they only had a few hours, but it felt nice to spend time with someone who really knows him. He had told Jughead about how he’d been struggling to write anything new, how everything sounds the same and how nothing fits. 

He and Jughead had walked the city all night, but it’d been useless. He still saw her everywhere. Coming out of a boutique on 5th Avenue, her arms weighed down with bags. Riding the carousel in Central Park, her smile beaming up at him. Hailing a cab, laughing as her hair flips in the breeze. 

Back in Nashville, everything feels like it’s crashing down around him. He’s suffocating in loneliness and confusion and he can’t figure out how he got here. How it doesn’t matter how many people he has around him -- his crew, his security, the groupies who bravely knock on the door of his tour bus --nothing can fill the hole and emptiness inside him. Nothing feels right anymore. 

He tries to keep himself busy. He starts running again, and one morning on his run, he finds himself standing outside a pet store, staring at this small yellow Labrador puppy who reminds him of Vegas. He steps inside, picking him up and cooing that “he’s a good boy”, but the lady working comes over and tells him  _ he’s _ actually a  _ she _ , and that’s how “Paris” comes to live in his apartment, complete with a small black collar with pearl detailing. 

The puppy keeps him company, traveling around the city every morning on their walks. One morning, as she’s tugging on her leash as he opens his mailbox, a red embossed envelope falls out and all he can think is  _ it’s about time. _ He knows what it is the second he sees the envelope, an invitation, calling him home to the place that he was once from. 

The invitation sits on his dresser the entire time he packs his bags, staring at him and reminding him of  _ her. _ He’d talked to her just the night before, actually heard her voice on the phone, but he hadn’t mentioned the wedding, hadn’t mentioned Riverdale. He doubts she’ll be able to make it -- the invitations only went out a few weeks before the wedding, and he doesn’t want to get his hopes up only to be disappointed if she’s not there. So he’d said nothing, the entire time he’d been on the phone with her. She hadn’t mentioned it either. Maybe she wasn’t coming, maybe it was supposed to be a surprise, or maybe she didn’t care either way if he knows she’s coming home or not. 

_ Home. _

His flight lands in New York the next afternoon and he’s nervous about the possibility of seeing her, and about Paris’s first flight. He couldn’t leave his new puppy alone --she’s still only a few months old --and the thought of kenneling her with strangers for even a few days was too much for him to handle. So he’d opted to fly first class on American Airlines, so she only had to ride in a kennel during takeoff and landing, and could spend the rest of the flight napping in his lap. 

He’d talked to Jughead earlier in the morning, agreeing that he’d pick him up from the airport. He’s struggling on the escalator, trying to juggle his bag and Paris who can’t seem to figure out that it’s impolite to stand on the step in front of you if someone else is already on that step. He doesn’t have a free hand to pick her up with, so he just apologizes to the lady with white hair who smiles back at him as she looks at the small pup. 

He’s still apologizing to the lady when the escalator reaches the bottom, still trying to juggle his bag and Paris who’s tugging him in the direction of the white-haired lady. He isn’t entirely watching where he’s going, briefly taking notice of the line of drivers holding signs with people’s names on them. 

He doesn’t see it at first, his name scrawled on a whiteboard. No, he actually smells it first. Walking past, a whiff of Chanel °5. He smiles, thinking of Veronica, but Paris is pulling him off in another direction.  _ Whose genius idea was it to try to navigate an airport with a 3-month-old puppy?  _

Paris’s leash goes slack and there’s a moment of panic that races through him, thinking she’s gotten loose. But no, the puppy that never stops moving has finally stopped moving. He follows the trail of her leash, still not fully taking in his surroundings. He’s too distracted by trying to keep track of her that he still doesn’t notice. 

He locates the small yellow puppy on the end of her black and pearl leash, sitting patiently across the toe of a pair of black high heels. His eyes dart up ready to apologize, but he freezes.

Veronica Lodge is standing in front of him, holding a sign with his name on it, while his puppy is curled up on her feet. 

“And who is this sweet little thing, Archiekins?” Her voice is smooth and ringing as she bends down to scoop up the small dog. Paris flails in her arms, her feet kick out in all directions and she wiggles to reach the girl who has picked her up, her tongue darting out to place a long lick on her cheek. 

“Her name is Paris…” He’s watching them, the two of them together, and he sees the half smirk on Veronica’s face as the name registers with her. 

“You named your dog after me?” 

“Well, technically she’s named after the city…” His friends in Nashville had teased him relentlessly over the fact that he named his dog Paris, and for the first time, he hears her name as other people hear it, and he cringes slightly.

“She’s got good taste though. We’re going to be great friends, aren’t we  _ mon petit chien _ ?”

In true Veronica Lodge fashion, there’s a black town car with a driver waiting for them by the curb. His bag placed in the trunk, the three slide into the backseat. Paris has taken quite a liking to the girl who’s also wearing black and pearls, and he gapes at the amount of yellow dog hair all over Veronica’s black dress. She doesn’t seem to mind though, pulling the small dog up to snuggle in her lap. 

They don’t talk much on the drive up to Riverdale, but somewhere along the way, his hand has become intertwined with hers. Neither of them mentions it, but it stays like that, and he’s not sure what this means -- if  _ this  _ is a thing. He tries to remind himself, as she rubs her thumb over his knuckles, that she still lives in Paris. That after this weekend, she’ll be going back to Paris. 

Once in town, they stop briefly at the Pembrooke, just long enough for Veronica to change, since her dress is now covered in Paris’s hair. He tucks the dog away in the small crate he’d brought with him after she’s eaten and gone outside, so he’s once again distracted when Veronica comes back into the room. A throat clearing alerts him to her presence.

He looks up to see her in a short black sequined cocktail dress with cutouts at the waist and he feels his tongue dry up in his mouth.

It's weird being back here again. Back in this town. With her on his arm. It feels like just yesterday they were here for the funeral, and now they’re all back here for a joyous occasion, or a few. Tonight's instance -- a rehearsal dinner. 

A rehearsal dinner that quickly becomes a joint bachelorette party, because since Reggie and Sweet Pea settled their differences on the basketball court in high school, they’ve never been able to turn down a party. 

There’s a limo and endless bottles of champagne and by 3 in the morning he can’t feel his face. Somehow, he knows they’ve ended up back at the Pembrooke -- him, Veronica, a blurry Betty Cooper and two Jughead’s. He stumbles down the hallway, Paris racing in circles around his feet, and he reaches his hand out to brace himself on the wall. 

_ That’s better _ . His fingers trace along the path his body knows too well -- down the hallway past the bathroom on the left, to the last room on the right. He doesn’t bother searching for his bag -- it’d take too much effort to change his clothes anyway -- so instead he just collapses on top of the plush, white bed. 

He lays there, halfway between drunkenness and sleep, for how long he’s not sure. Maybe he is sleeping, maybe he isn’t, but he feels the mattress sink down next to him. A small body curls up beside him, and short black hair flops over his chest as she wiggles under his arm to get comfortable. 

Her voice is soft like she’s whispering to him in a dream, and he thinks maybe she hesitates, like she isn’t really ready to speak. 

_ “I bought a townhouse in New York today.” _

His body stills, tensing briefly, and suddenly all of the alcohol is gone from his system and he’s completely sober, seeing everything perfectly clear. 

If Veronica Lodge is moving to New York, then so is he. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the beta love to @pyschobetts, who has been so insanely supportive and kind throughout this!
> 
> Thank you for all of the love, comments, and kudos on this! Only one more chapter left!
> 
> follow me on tumblr @miss-eee


	8. Betty Cooper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Are you ready to find out who died?

It takes her a moment to get her bearings, her head pounding from the copious amounts of champagne the night before. Champagne and tequila never mix, but there was a time when the North and South side of town didn’t either, and last night had been a perfect example of how far they had come since high school. Two groups once at odds with each other, gathered together and cramped into a limousine, celebrating the imminent coming together of their two princesses. 

His arms are wrapped around her, holding her firmly to his body, and she doesn’t ever want to leave his side again. There’s a complete level of bliss that comes with slow lazy mornings spent with him, but she knows all too soon Cheryl Blossom will come barging down the door in all of her bridezilla glory, so she snuggles into his side to enjoy the last few minutes of peace. She rolls closer into his side, snuggling against his chest, and vows to stay like this, just like this, until the last possible moment. 

It’s only been a day since they reunited, and already she can feel her heart breaking knowing she’ll have to leave again. They’d fallen into this little routine together -- nightly phone calls to check in, sharing little things about their days, like the ham and cheese sandwich he likes from the deli down the street, or how she spent her lunch hour watching the waves come in on the beach.

It had been at the last minute when her editor sent her to New York to visit the  _ Times _ , so she’d made plans to surprise him by stopping at his apartment. But, in a twist of fate, she’d called him after her flight landed and he told her he’d just landed in LA. 

He’d sent her on a mission to find the deli down the street from his apartment. When she went to pay for her ham and cheese, the cashier told her it had already been paid for. 

She’d hated being in LA after she’d been with him, but being in New York without him had been even worse. She’d seen him in all of these places with her -- sitting at an outdoor patio writing on his laptop, browsing a newspaper stand, holding a black coffee in one hand and hers in the other as they walk down the street. There was a moment when she saw a flash of a tall redhead walking across the street, and for a moment, she had imagined Veronica and Archie together with them. All four of them, back together in New York. A new city, where they could start over again, and rebuild what they’d once broken. 

Her time with Veronica and New York had gone by too fast -- spent getting brunch or massages between work meetings. She doesn’t have friends like her in LA -- sure, there’s work colleagues and college friends, but nothing like the comfort of a friend who knows all of your faults and failures and still loves you the same.

She’d only been back in LA for a day when she’d seen the red embossed envelope in her mailbox. All she could think was  _ it’s about time.  _ Her heart had fluttered, knowing she’d see him in a few short weeks; there really was no way he’d not be in Riverdale for the wedding. 

He’d been there when her flight landed the morning before, and his hand instantly reached for hers. He didn’t let go of it, not while he moved to grab her luggage bag, not while he opened the door to his car. His thumb traced over her knuckles the entire drive to Riverdale, and she’d thought:  _ this is the way it should be _ . 

There’s an easy comfort between them, how easily they move together, how easily they fit together. LA was everything to her -- she’d found freedom and happiness and herself out there, but being here again with him, being back in the place that she was once from, felt right in a way that the sunshine and warmth hadn’t in a long time. 

She’s still lazily dreaming of the night before -- still lazily dreaming of him -- when she hears the knock on the door and knows her blissful morning is coming to an end. She shakes him lightly and he sleepily pulls her into him further. 

“Jug -- it’s Veronica and Josie. I have to get up.”

“Cheryl can wait, there’s something else that’s already up…” His voice is husky and low as he tugs her against him, and she can feel him against her thigh. 

There’s a brief moment where she thinks about giving in to him, as if all the times the night before hadn’t been enough, as if all of the times before would never be enough. But the door bursts open, ending the moment, and revealing Veronica and Josie. 

“Some privacy, Lodge…” his voice trails off as he pulls the comforter up tighter around them. She knows from experience that Jughead prefers to sleep in the nude and that is not a sight that Josie and Veronica need to see. 

“Jughead Jones, y _ ou _ are responsible for Toni this morning, so  _ you _ need to get moving. Last I checked, Sweet Pea was still dead to the world, and Fangs isn’t answering his phone - Archie said he left with some random guy last night - so Bride #2 is all yours.” She caught the smirk on Veronica’s face as she reached for Josie’s arm, pulling her back out of the room and closing the door. 

She kisses him once more before she climbs out of the warmth of the bed, tosses him a pair of flannel pants as she pulls on his shirt from the night before and slips out of the bedroom to find their two friends. 

Josie greets her with a kiss on the cheek and a mimosa, and she’s reminded of the ease and grace her friend moves around the room with. There is never a situation Josie is unprepared for; she is always poised and ready to tackle the day. Like Archie, Josie is a singer as well, although on a more global scale than the redhead. She’d missed the funeral a few weeks before because she’d been on tour in Europe and unable to get away. 

A rack of dresses hang in the living room of the Pembrooke, all the same shade of red with full-length skirts in various styles. Betty’s is chiffon with a sweetheart neckline, fitted through the bodice with a skirt that floats softly to the ground. Veronica had designed all of them individually, with each girl in mind, so each dress is perfectly tailored to match the girls' personalities. 

It’s after the hair and makeup team arrives, when she’s sitting in a chair being poked and prodded when Jughead passes through the living room, sending a smirk in her direction, and her heart melts at the half smile. He’s off to the Whyte Wyrm, to attempt to wrangle together the rest of the former Serpents and “Bride #2”, as Veronica had called her. 

* * *

The wedding takes place at a recently renovated Thornhill. The over-the-top mixture of red and diamond with hints of black leather is beautiful, and works, in a way that only the maple syrup and southside princess could pull off. Both brides wear white -- Cheryl is in a long slinky number, and Toni is in a short dress that shows off her white fishnet tights. The ceremony is short with sweet personal touches. Cheryl presents Toni with a diamond encrusted snake ring in place of a solitary diamond. 

After the ceremony, she is standing outside on the back patio with him, and she reaches up to straighten his tie, tugging on the lapels of the familiar black leather jacket. She wasn’t aware he still had it, having left the Serpents when he moved to New York, and she’d forgotten how good he looked in it, how well it fit over his shoulder and his arms. The same arms she’d woken up wrapped in this morning. 

She spends the night sipping champagne, and his hand never leaves hers. When they’re not on the dance floor, his arms are wrapped around her while she rests her feet from the impossibly tall high heels Cheryl had insisted on. It's been so long since all of them were together like this, for a happy occasion, and so unlike the event that called them all back together before. 

Sometime after midnight, after the brides had retreated away to their honeymoon suite, the group slowly start to disperse. Jughead, claiming he was starving despite eating three plates of food at dinner, insisted on stopping for Pop’s before heading back to the Pembrooke. 

The man behind the counter looks up and smiles as the group walks in, and doesn’t bother to bring menus as he starts preparing their usuals. An assortment of milkshakes, burgers, french fries and onion rings soon fill the table as the four friends sink into the red vinyl booth. Archie had left his suit jacket and tie somewhere, leaving his once crisp white shirt wrinkled and half-unbuttoned. Jughead’s black leather jacket lays tossed over the back of the booth, the sleeves of his shirt are rolled up past his elbows. Underneath the table, she slips off her heels, flexing her toes to regain feeling. 

She sinks softly into his side, and his arm comes over to trace circles on her bare shoulder. Being here, all of them together, feels right. There is a lightness to the air that hadn’t been there the last time they were together. There is now laughter that isn’t strained and broken hearts that are mending. 

They make their way back to the Pembrooke, his hand resting low on her back, guiding her to the bedroom that was only a guest bedroom but was starting to feel like theirs with how much they’d been frequenting it lately. She slips out of her dress and into a shirt of his while he showers. The sheets call her name, the exhaustion of the long day taking its toll, and before the water turns off, her eyes are closed. His arm comes around her waist, pulling her into his side, and the last thing she remembers is a kiss placed to the top of her hair. 

The next morning, after again, waking wrapped in his scent, she finds Veronica in the kitchen making coffee, which is odd because Veronica is never the first one up. There’s not even a moment of silence that passes between them before Veronica blurts out  _ she bought a townhouse in New York two days ago _ . She’d told her she was going to -- the two girls had been sending each other listings for the last few weeks, but this, the actual  _ buying of a townhouse _ feels so final. She watches Veronica’s excitement as she tells her about her plans to move her business here, back to the States, and there’s a moment Betty thinks maybe she should come back too. She remembers, just a few weeks ago, the image in her head of all four of them starting over here together. 

In the end, though, he drives her to the airport, holding her hand the entire way. He kisses her goodbye at security, and she cries until the stewardess comes around with drinks. 

Her body twitches, a bout of turbulence shaking her awake. In her dreams, she was in the guest bedroom of the Pembrooke, being woken by soft kisses that started in her hair before they trailed down her cheek, her neck, her chest. She’d woken the same way just hours before, wrapped in his arms, in a feeling of bliss that she’d never been able to forget. 

She tries to shut her eyes, to get back to that dream again, but the pilot announces the plane's descent. She’d traveled light, everything packed in her carry on, so it’s only a half hour after the plane lands that she’s in an Uber back to her apartment. 

  
  


Reaching into her pocket, she pulls out her phone -- she’d promised him that she’d call when she landed. He answers on the first ring and his voice is calming and soothing. All over again, just like that morning, he tells her how proud of her he is, of how she’s chasing her dreams and of how brave she is. 

Her apartment seems lonely and empty, like a place she doesn’t live at anymore. She drops her bags on her bed, not bothering to unpack, and makes her way up to her rooftop patio, desperate for fresh air. Her little haven in this big city though only suffocates her more. The beach and the waves don’t bring her comfort; the city doesn’t feel warm anymore. 

She goes through the days, goes about her routine, but everything feels different now. She curls her hair every morning, chooses an outfit from her variety of skirts and dresses in her closet, walks the familiar streets to her office, but she’s only going through the motions. No matter how much she tries -- and she really is trying -- her heart isn’t there anymore, and she starts to wonder if it ever really was. Maybe he’d taken it with him when he left with Archie all those years ago, maybe she’s just been trying to survive without it. That was, until she saw him again and he put her back together. 

The weeks go by, and nightly FaceTime sessions only leave her missing him more. It’s after he’s gone to bed one night and she’s unable to sleep, not wanting to call him and wake him up, that she finds herself scrolling through a job site she used to frequent before she’d gotten hired at the  _ Chronicle _ . There’s a posting for an editing position with the  _ New York Times _ , and she knows it's a long shot, but the direct supervisor is one she worked with when she was in New York a few months ago. Maybe there’s a chance, and before she can overthink things, she’s submitted her application, complete with resume and required articles. 

A month goes by. A month of keeping up the charade over FaceTime and nightly phone calls, keeping silent about the job posting because she doesn’t want to get his hopes up, to get her hopes up, because she still hasn’t received a phone call. 

Until she does. 

* * *

  
  
  


It’s late when her flight lands and she hasn’t called ahead. She just hails a taxi and gives the driver the address she’d gotten from Veronica. 

The elevator appears to be broken, so she drags her bags up the stairs. She stands there, in front of his apartment and a moment of panic floods over her. Was this the right thing, just showing up here, not calling at all? 

She steadies herself, and tightens her ponytail once before knocking on the door. There’s a rustle of noise on the other side of the door --  _ is that a dog barking? _ Her hand is raised to knock again when the door opens. 

He’s standing there, a brief look of confusion on his face. Her shoulders shrug as she drops her bags to the floor. 

“It’s always been you, Jug. You’re the love of my life…”

He reaches for her, pulling her hard into his chest before he places a kiss on her lips. Something small barrels into her legs and she pulls away, looking down to see a small yellow dog. The same small yellow dog she’d met just a few months ago at Cheryl and Toni’s wedding. 

Before she can connect her thoughts, she hears his voice from inside the apartment. 

“Is that the pizza, Jug? I’m starving!”

He pulls her by the hand into the apartment. She forgets her bags left behind in the hallway. 

“Not the pizza, Arch. Another kind of delivery.” 

Veronica enters the living room from the kitchen off to the right, beaming and carrying a bottle of tequila, and all of the thoughts she’d had a moment earlier finally connect. 

Archie, Veronica, him. The four of them here, starting over together in a new city, fixing the things that they’d once broken. 

* * *

  
  


In a small town in upstate New York, where the evergreens grow tall and the maple syrup runs like water, there's a small town by a river. Shaded by a large oak tree in the small town cemetery is a fresh grave marker, indicating the resting place of a man who’d held the town together. 

He’d watched them grow up together, been there the day that three became four. Through all of the fights with their parents, the heartbreaks and the accomplishments, he’d been there. Always with a fries and a milkshake, coffee to fuel a late night writing session. 

He was as much a part of this place that they had once been from as any of them, but some would argue that he had been the part that held them all together. When everything around the town had fallen apart, he’d stood strong as the voice of reason and calm in the storm. 

This place that they were once from, was more than just a town, more than just a diner. This was the place that they’d always had in common, that the whole town had always had in common. 

There was no epitaph etched in the stone. There was just a name, and two dates, forever immortalizing a man.

_ Pop Tate _

_ 1947-2018 _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have so much love for all of you right now, it's unreal. 
> 
> To @psychobetts who puts up with all of my changes in tense and comma overusage- I am forever thankful for you!
> 
> follow me on tumblr @miss-eee (and I have a lot of headcanons and theories about this, that I'd love to share with all of you1)

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on tumblr @theonlyemmaleigh


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